BANCROFT 

LIBRARY 

«• 

THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 


t. 


PUBLISHED   FOR   THE   USE   OF   THE 

FREMONT   FLYING  ARTILLERY, 

OF    PROVIDENCE. 


PROVIDENCE: 
X>TJ     ID  -A.  IK     <Sz     O  O  - 

1856. 


BULLY  BROOK'S. 

Am.—"  Blue  Tail  Fly. 

There's  many  a  blustering,  swaggering  knave, 

To  Congress  sent,  the  South  to  save, 

But  the  blackest  name,  upon  the  books, 

Is  that  of  bully  Preston  Brooks, 
Chorus. — Then  Bully  brag  on,  we  don't  care, 
Then  Bully  brag  on,  we  don't  care, 
Then  Bully  brag  on,  we  don't  care, 
You're  sure  to  run  away. 

Oh  !  should  you  go  at  any  time, 

To  South  Carolina's  sultry  clime, 

Be  careful  of  her  shades  and  nooks, 

For  'tis  the  home  of  Bully  Brooks.      (Chorus.) 

For  Bully  lies  in  wait,  you  know, 
And  in  the  back  he  deals  his  blow  ; 
He  takes  the  time,  when  no  one  looks, 
A  rare  assassin,  Bully  Brooks.     (Chorus.) 

He  took  poor  Sumner  unprepared, 
The  only  way  in  which  he  dared  ; 
But  Burlingaine  his  mutton  cooks, 
And  a  feather  white,  wears  Bully  Brooks.  (Chorus.) 

Said  he  "I've  often  heard  them* tell, 

That  Anson  always  rings  the  bell; 

And  I  prefer  policemen's  hooks, 

To  rifle  balls,"  says  Bully  Brooks.     (Chorus.) 

There's  Toombs,  has  promised,  that  he  will 

Call  his  roll  of  Slaves  on  Bunker  Hill ; 

But  Burlingarne,  at  Niagara's  fall, 

Your  name  without  response  did  call.     (Chorus.)          ^  q 

Your  chivalry  can  run  no  risk, 

It  stands  upon  a  trifle  ; 
You'll  strike  a  man  behind  his  desk, 
But  notbehind  his  rifle.     (Chorus.) 


Am. — "Blair  and  1  called  on  our  Van." 
Oh  !  Fillmore,  what  a  blunder, 
To  say  that  they  will  sunder 
The  Union  when  Ave're  under 

The  gallant,  young  Fremont. 
Chorus. — Though  bound  to  beat  Buchanan,  blue, 
With  Douglass,  and  his  ruffiian  crew, 
We're  bound  to  save  the  Union,  too, 
With  the  gallant,  young  Fremont. 
Should  it  be  undertaken, 
They'll  find  they  have  mistaken, 
The  customer  they  are  waking, 

In  the  gallant,  young  Fremont. 
Chorus. — Though  bound,  &c. 
We  know  that  they  will  bluster, 
And  get  all  in  a  fluster, 
But  that  will  not  pass  muster, 

With  the  gallant,  young  Fremont. 
Chorus. — Though  bound,  &c. 
Disunion,  they'll  be  crying, 
But  Southern  Nullifying, 
Is  game  not  worth  the  trying, 

On  the  gallant  young  Fremont. 
Chorus. — Though  bound,  &c. 
At  their  first  insurrection, 
They'll  find  for  their  inspection, 
A  Jackson  resurre'ction 

In  the  gllant,  young  Fremont. 
Chorus. — Though  bound,  &c. 
They  call  us  Union  haters, 
Do  these  same  strife  creators, 
We'll  undeceive  the  traitors 

With  the  gallant,  young  Fremont. 
Chorus. — Though  bound,  &c. 
We're  firm  in  resolution, 
Against  all  dissolution, 
We're  for  the  Constitution 

And  the  gallant,  young  Fremont. 
Chorus. — Though  bound,  &c. 
This  land,  our  sires  did  gain  it, 
With  Freemen's  blood  did  stain  it, 
And  freemen  shall  maintain  it, 

With  the  gallant,  young  Fremont. 
Chorus. — Though  bound,  &c. 


THE  CONTRAST. 

Am. — "A  Wet  Sheet  and  a  Flowing  Sea." 

OH  !  a  keen  eye,  and  a  steady  hand, 

And  a  heart  for  the  People's  woe, 
A  will  to  give  the  stern  command, 

And  a  soul  that  fears  no  woe  ! 

Chorus: 

A  soul  that  fears  no  foe,  my  boys  ! 

A  soul  that  fears  no  foe, 
A  will  to  give  the  right  command, 

And  a  soul  that  fears  no  foe  ! 

For  these  the  land  is  bleeding  now, 

For  these  do  Freemen  pray, 
And  these  upon  his  face  and  brow, 

Our  leader  bears  to-day  ! 

Chorus: 
Our  leader  bears  to-day,  my  boys,  &c. 

But  the  white  cravat,  and  the  glassy  eye, 

And  the  face  whose  lines  recall 
The  party  craft  of  time  gone  by — 

Oh  !  turn  them  to  the  wall ! 

Chorus : 
Oh,  turn  them  to  the  wall,  my  boys,  &c. 

Oh  !  a  keen  eye,  and  a  steady  hand, 

And  a  heart  for  the  People's  woe, 
A  will  to  give  the  stern  command, 

And  a  soul  that  fears  no  foe  ! 

Chorus : 

A  soul  that  fears  no  foe, 

A  soul  that  fears  no  foe, 
An  eye,  and  a  hand,  and  a  heart,  and  a  will. 

And  a  soul  that  fears  no  foe  ! 


A  CANDIDATE  FOR  AUCTION. 

Am — "  Benny  Havens,  0!" 

Our  candidate's  for  auction. 

We'll  sell  him  rarely  low — 
He's  just  come  from  the  "  holy  See," 

To  be  made  a  "  holy  show  ;" 
So  now's  your  time  to  buy  us, 

Let  each  his  offer  call — 
We'll  sell  him  cheap,  for  ready  cash, 

"Dark-lantern,"  "grip/'  and  all. 

Who  bids  for  MILLARD  FILLMORE, 
Th'  "  Ex-press  "  is  bound  to  go  ; 

He's  just  come  back  from  the  Holy  See> 
To  be  made  "  a  holy  shovi." 

By  accident  exalted 

To  the  Presidential  chair, 
He  went  abroad  and  blew  his  horn 

With  a  braggart  flunkey's  air  ; 
He  traversed  the  Campagna, 

And  kissed  the  Pope's  big  toe, 
But  he's  not  the  man  for  our  Campaign, 

And  so  we'll  sell  him  low. 

Who  bids  for  MILLARD  FILLMORE, 
Th'  Ex-press  man,  old  and  slow, 

Who's  just  returned  from  the  Holy  See 
To  be  made  "  a  holy  show." 

A  mansion  on  the  Thames  had  he, 

A  castle  on  the  Maine  ; 
He  lived  six  weeks  upon  the  Spree, 

For  ten  he  was  "  on- Seine." 
He  had  a  sweet  and  fair  retreat 

Where  the  Rhine's  dark  waters  flow  ; 
He  also  had  a  well-kept  seat 

Upon  the  quiet  Po.  * 

So  who  will  bid  for  FILLMORE, 
Fresh  from  the  Spree  and  Po  ? 

We  coaxed  him  back  from  the  Holy  See 
To  be  made  "  a  holy  show  !" 


Am. — "Here's  to  you,  Harry  Clay!" 

Why,  what  a  host  of  candidates 

Did  start  to  try  their  luck, 
To  see  who'd  be  next  President ; 
There's  Douglass,  Pierce  and  Buck. 
Chorus. — Here's  to  you,  John  Fremont 
Here's  to  you,  my  noble  soul, 
Here's  to  you,  with  all  my  heart, 
And  you  shall  be  the  people's  choice. 
And  that  before  we  part — 
Here's  to  you,  John  Fremont ! 

And  the  first  upon  the  list 

Was  the  giant  Douglas — Steve  ; 
His  claims  were  canvassed  by  his  friends, 

And  he  was  asked  to  leave. 
Chorus,  &c. 

The  next  was  General  Cass, 

Once  our  Minister  to  France, 
He'd  only  do  to  Parlez  vous — 

He  had'nt  got  a  chance. 

Chorus,  &c. 

How  happy  Franklin  Pierce  must  be, 

Since  he's  turned  out  so  well, 
For  he  can  leave  off  war,  and  soon 

In  peace  and  Concord  dwell. 
Chorus,  &c. 

So  they  trotted  out  at  last, 

That  Federalist,  Buchanan, 
And  then  they  made  a  platform  black 

For  their  candidate  to  stand  on. 
Chorus,  &c. 

Young  Iowa,  far  in  the  West, 

Has  fired  the  signal  gun, 
She  met  the  foe,  and  laid  him  low — 

Her  work  was  bravely  done. 
Chorus,  &c. 

Hark  !  a  voice  rings  out  from  Vermont's  hills, 

And  sounds  far  o'er  the  plain, 
"  We've  rolled  our  twenty  thousand  up, 
Now,  do  ye  likewise,  Maine." 
Chorus,  &c. 


They've  done  their  work  in  the  Pine  Tree  StateP 

The  ruffians  strove  in  vain, 
They're  beat  in  spite  of  all  their  boast, 

And  Hamlin  governs  Maine. 
Chorus. — 

The  Jersey  boys  are  wide  awake, 

Their  work  will  be  well  done, 
And  Stockton  cannot  get  that  State, 

With  his  money,  or  big  gun  ! 

Chorus. — 

When  Pennsylvania's  turn  shall  come, 

The  friends  of  Freedom  there, 
Will  give  her  vote  to  John  Fremont, 

And  make  Buchanan  stare. 
Chorus. — 

And  in  our  own  good  native  State, 

Where  freemen  can't  be  sold, 
We'll  show  the  friends  of  Buck  and  Fill, 

We  spurn  their  bribe  of  gold. 

Chorus. — 

And  in  the  gallant  Empire  State, 

We'll  run  them,  neck  and  neck, 
We'll  beat  the  friends  of  Fillmore  there 5 

As  well  as  Buck  and  Breck. 

Chorus. — 

The  ruffians  all,  both  great  and  small, 

Have  had  their  ipse  dixit, 
They  can't  come  in,  ain't  it  a  sin  ? 

Not  no  how  they  can  fix  it. 

Chorus.— >• 

And  having  thus,  disposed  of  all, 

From  Beersheba  to  Dan — 
The  people's  voice  has  made  its  choice, 

And  John  Fremont's  the  man. 

Chorus. — 


7 

CAMPAIGN  SONG. 
Am. — "  Villikins  and  Ms  Dinah." 

As  Buchanan  was  walking  by  the  White  House,  one  day, 
His  eyes  did  roll  upwards,  and  thus  he  did  say, 
"I'm  looking  for  lodgings,  and  this  is  the  thing, 
So  I  guess  I  will  take  it  quite  early  next  spring." 

Singing,  to  la  la  la  ral  la  to  ral  la  la. 

Then  bowing  quite  ]ow  to  the  people  around, 
He  called  them  the  bravest  he  ever  had  found ; 
The  South  was  his  darling,  the  North  was  his  pride  ; 
And,  in  speaking  of  Kansas,  he  tenderly  sighed — 
Singing,  to  la,  &c. 

'Twas  thus  he  was  talking  sweet  things  to  the  crowd, 
When  the  voice  of  the  people  rose  up  clear  and  loud  : 
"Here  comes  JOHN  and  JESSIE,  so  clear  out  the  way, 
'Tis  too  late  in  the  season  for  you  to  make  hay/' 
Singing,  to  la,  &c. 

"We  go  for  Free  Kansas,  Free  Speech,  and  Free  Press, 
Our  whole  rights  as  Freemen  we  mean  to  possess, 
We  want  no  c  old  fogies '  their  yoke  to  lay  on, 
So  clear  out  the  way  for  our  JESSIE  and  JOHN  !" 
Singing,  to  la,  &c. 

Then  Buchanan  with  weeping  looked  round  on  the  crowd, 
But,  alas  !  for  his  phelinks,  they  cried  very  loud  : 
"  Make  way  for  brave  FREMONT  !  our  hero,  make  way, 
You  can  row  up  Salt  River  for  Ten  Cents  a  Day." 
Singing,  to  la,  &c. 

MORAL. 

Now  all  ye  wire-pullers  take  warning  by  this, 
Ere  dreaming  of  gaining  political  bliss, — 
Don't  knock  at  the  White  House,  or  Uncle  Sam's  Bin, 
Though  a  smart  set  of  ruffians,  you  cannot  come  in. 
Singing,  to  la,  &c. 


THE    HERO    WHO    CONQUERED. 

Am — "  The  Bright  Rosy  Morning." 

The  hero  who  conquered, 

And  never  gave  o'er, — 
The  man  we  have  chosen 

For  honors  in  store. 

Oh  !  let  us,  let  us  now  engage 
Round  his  banner  to  stand, 

And  glory,  and  strength,  boys, 
Shall  fill  all  the  land  ! 

The  day  star  is  risen, 

The  patriot  is  come, 
The  mansion  is  ready, 

We  welcome  him  home  ! 

Then  cheer  up,  cheer  up,  freemen  all ! 

Lend  a  hand — lend  a  hand, — 
And  glory,  and  strength,  boys, 

Shall  fill  all  the  land  ! 

We  win  for  no  despot, 

We  fight  not  for  hire, 
The  birthright  of  freemen 

Is  all  we  desire  ! 

Then  crowd  up,  crowd  up  to  the  deck, 
Let  the  ship  be  well  manned, 

And  glory,  and  strength,  boys, 
Shall  fill  all  the  land. 


Am — "  Dearest  Mae." 

Now,  Freemen  hear  and  mark  me,  sit  down  and  I'll  re 
late 

The  treason  that  was  uttered  by  a  Doughface  Candidate  : 
He  plumply  says,  before  hand,  that  the  South  should  not 

obey 

If  FREMONT  be  the  People's   Choice  on   next   November's 
day  ! 
CHORUS — 

Think,  Freemen  all  !  these  sentiments  recall, 
When  Fillmore  tries  to  blind  your  eyes 

To  the  fact  of  Southern  thrall  ! 
In  other   words — he  says   the  South   should   "  let   the 

4  Union  slide," 

The  moment  we  no  more  agree  to  bow  before  its  pride  ; 
For  years,  and  years,  the   North  has  borne  the    Slaver's 

sway  alone — 

"  All  this/'  says  Fillmore,  "  goes  for  naught,  if  once  we 
ask  our  own  !" 

CHORUS — Think,  Freemen  all  !  &c. 

'Tis  he  suggests  the  treason — he  claps  them  on  the  back, 
And  swears  ' c  they  must  be  mad  or   fools  to  take  a  dif 
ferent  track !" 

The  "  will  of  the  majority's"  a  good  thing  in  its  way, 
So  long — but  not   an  inch  beyond — supporting  Southern 
sway  ! 
CHORUS — Think,  Freemen  all !  &c. 

Its  "  heads  we  win   and  tails  you  lose"  the  game   he'd 

have  them  play, 

If  their  man  is  elected,  by  all  means,  then  obey  ! 
But  if  he's  not — 'twere  folly  the  issue  to  abide, 
So  heads  we  win  and  tails  you  lose  !  and  "  let  the  Union 

slide." 

CHORUS; — Think,  Freemen  all !  &c. 

Our  bold  Freemountain   Eagle   will  tear  the   threat  to 

shreds, 
And  if  they  try  the   traitor's   game — their  blood  be   on 

their  heads ! 
cc  'Tis  an  awkward  thing,"  said  Webster,  in  his  grand 

reply  to  Hayne, 
"  This  dying  without   touching  earth  " — Let   FILLMORE 

think  again ! 

(JHORUS — And  think,  Freemen  all !  &c. 


10 
WE'RE  FOR  FREEDOM  THROUGH  THE  LAND- 

AIR—"  Old  Granite  State." 

WE  are  coming, we  are  coming!  freedom's  battle  is  begun! 
No  hand,  shall  furl  her  banner  ere  her  victory  be  won! 
Our  shields  are  locked  for  liberty,  and  mercy  goes  before: 
Tyrants  tremble  in  your  citadel !  oppression  shall  be  o'er. 

We  are  all  for  Fremont, 
We  are  all  for  Dayton — 
We  are  all  for  Liberty  and  Justice, 
,    And  for  Freedom  through  the  land. 

We  have  hatred,  dark  and  deep,  for  the  fetter  and  the 

thong  ; 
We  bring  light  for  prisoned  spirits,  for  the  captive's  wail 

a  song ; 
We  are  coming,  we  are  coming !  and  ' '  No  league  with 

tyrant  man," 
Is  emblazoned  on  our  banner,  while  our  Fremont  leads 

the  van ! 

We  are  all  for  Fremont,  &c. 

We  are  coming,  we  are  coming !  but  we  wield  no  battle 

brand  : 
We  are  armed  with  truth  and  justice,  and  our  ballot's  in 

our  hand  ; 
And  our  voice  which  swells  for  freedom — freedom  now 

and  ever  more — 
Shall  be  heard  as  ocean's  thunder,  when  they  burst  upon 

the  shore  ! 

We  are  all  for  Fremont,  &c. 

We  are  coming, we  are  coming!  not  as  comes  the  tempest's 

wrath, 

When  the  frown  of  desolation  sits  brooding  o'er  its  path  : 
But  with  mercy,  such  as  leaves  his  holy  signet-light  upon 
The  air  in  lambent  beauty,  when  the  darkening  storm  is 

gone. 

We  are  all  for  Fremont,  &c. 


11 

AIR. — "  Camptoivn  Races." 
Freemen  all,  hear  Freedom's  cry, 

Da  da,  du  da, 
Let  by-gones  pass,  and  feuds  gone  by, 

Du  da,  du  da,  da. 
Forgotten  be  for  ever  more, 

Du  da,  du  da, 
Join  our  chorus  and  encore, 

Du  da,  du  da,  da. 
Chorus.-—  We'll  work  from  this  to  election, 

We're  bound  to  have  good  luck, 
We  '11  bet  our  money  on  the  Woolly  Horse, 

We're  bound  to  beat  old  Buck. 
For  Freedom's  leader,  brave  Fremont, 

Du  da,  du  da, 
Who  ne'er  was  beat,  'tis  not  his  wont, 

Du  da,  du  da,  da. 
Come  Democrats   of  Jackson's  school, 

Du  da,  du  da, 
Aid  us  break  this  tyrant  rule, 

Du  da,  du  da,  da. 

Chorus.— We'll  work  from  this  to  election,  &c. 
Come  gallant  Whigs  of  forty-four, 

Du  da,  du  da, 
Join  our  chorus  and  encore, 

Du  da,  du  da,  da. 
The  People  mean  him — he's  the  man, 

Du  da,  du  da, 
Beat  him,  ruffians,  if  you  can, 

Du  da,  du  da,  da. 
Uhorus.— We'U  work  from  this  to  election,  &e. 

Chivalric  South  how  much  they  fear, 

Du  da,  du  da, 
The  name,  Fremont,  we  hold  so  dear, 

Du  da,  du  da,  da. 
A  few  are  there  who  boldly  speak, 

Du  da,  du  da, 
Of  him  on  Eocky  Mountain's  peak, 

Du  da,  du  da,  da. 
Chorus. — We'll  work  from  this  to  election,  &c. 

His  country's  standard,  there  unfurled, 

Du  da,  du  da, 

The  stars  so  blessed  by  all  the  world, 

Du  da,  du  da,  da. 


12 

Reasons,  plenty,  we  can  relate, 

Du  da,  da  da, 

Why  he  should  fill  the  Chair  of  State, 

Du  da,  du  da,  da. 
Chorus. — We'll  work  from  this  to  election,  &c. 

Dog  meat,  he  prefers,  they  sing, 

Du  da,  du  da, 
He'll  eat  up  Buck  before  the  spring, 

Du  da,  du  da,  da. 
Grasshopper  pie,  is  his  delight, 

Du  da,  du  da, 
This  at  noon,  mule  meat  at  night, 

•  Du  da,  du  da,  da, 
Chorus. — We'll  work  from  this  to  election,  &c. 

'Tis  this  same  Buck  who  lied  'bout  Clay, 

Du  da,  du  da, 
He  asks  our  votes,  we  tell  him  nay, 

Du  da,  du  da,  da. 
His  Ostend  Circular  is  plain, 

Du  da,  du  da, 
'Means  Cuba,  stole  for  Southern  gain, 

Du  da,  du  da,  da. 
Chorus. — We'll  work  from  this  to  election,  &c. 

His  promise  made,  in  years  gone  by, 

Du  da,  du  da, 
Is  unredeemed,  and  time  doth  fly, 

Du  da,  du  da,  da. 
Then,  hasten  Buck,  while  life  remains, 

Du  da,  du  da, 
Purge  Democratic  blood  from  veins, 

Du  da,  du  da,  da. 
Chorus. — We'll  work  from  this  to  election,  &c. 

Then  join  the  chorus,  as  of  old, 

Du  da,  du  da$ 
For  John  Fremont — the  just  and  bold, 

Du  da,  du  da,  da. 
With  the  hurrah — three  times  three, 

Du  da,  du  da, 
Bless  God,  we  yet  have  Liberty, 

Du  da,  du  da,  da, 

Chorus. — We'll  work  from  this  to  election,  &c. 


13 

AIR. — "  Blow  the  Windy  Morning." 

Awake,  ye  black  Republicans, 

The  time  is  near  at  hand, 
To  choose  another  magistrate, 

This  country  to  command. 

Chorus. — Then  clear  away  the  ruffian  band, 

Freemen  will  never  yield, 
'Till  John  Fremont  is  in  command, 
And  Buck  has  left  the  field. 

They  talk  about  the  Woolly  Horse, 

And  at  the  story  grin, 
That  Woolly  Horse  is  on  the  track, 

And  he  is  bound  to  win. 
Chorus. — Then  clear  away  the  ruffian  band,"&c. 

They  call  our  party  sectional, 
Their  reason  we  will  mention, 

Because  we  won't  give  up  our  rights, 

To  Slavery  extension. 
Chorus. — Then  clear  away  the  ruffian  band',  &c. 

When  Jim  Buchanan  pledged  himself 
The  platform  straight  to  tread, 

He  sold  himself  for  Southern  votes, 

But  at  the  North,  he's  dead. 
Chorus. — Then  clear  away  the  ruffian  band,  &c. 

There's  Fillmore,  who  has  just  got  home 

From  visiting  the  Pope, 
He  only  makes  believe  to  run, 

He  has'nt  got  a  hope, 
Chorus. — Then  clear  away  the  ruffian  band,  &c. 

Let  John  Fremont  affairs  control, 

With  JESSIE  by  his  side, 
Let  Franklin  Pierce,  get  in  his  hearse, 

And  from  the  White  House  ride. 
Chorus. — Then  clear  away  the  ruffian  band,  &c. 

The  White  House,  once  delivered, 

The  Cabinet  scattered,  too, 
As  they  run  out,  the  States  will  shout, 

God  help  the  scaly  crew. 
Chorus. — Then  clear  away  the  ruffian  band,  &c. 


14 
FREMONT  AND  FREEDOM, 

AIR — Did  you  never  hear  of  the  Farmer" 

ON  to  the  rescue, — Freemen  bold — 

A  fearless  band  are  we  : 
We'll  raise  the  song,  and  strike  the  chord 

That  sounds  for  liberty. 

Chorus — Ho  !  Ho  !  for  Freedom,  Free  Debate, 

Free  Labor  and  Fremont ! 
The  ballot  box  shall  save  the  State, 
And  silence  every  taunt. 

O'er" high  Nevada's  snowy  cliffs, 

Our  crested  eagles  soar  ; 
And  on  the  Rocky  Mountain  sit, 

Or  fly  from  shore  to  shore — 

Chorus — Ho  !  Ho  !  for  Freedom,  &c. 

Land  of  the  brave,  home  of  the  free, 

Freedom  thy  aid  implores  ; 
Away,  away  with  Slavery 

From  these  our  peaceful  shores — 

Chorus — Ho  !  Ho  !  for  Freedom,  &c. 

The  time's  at  hand,  the  day  is  fixed, 

November  fourth  will  show, 
This  band  of  border  ruffians 

From  Washington  must  go. 

Chorus — Ho  !  Ho  !  for  Freedom,  &c< 

Now  Fremont,  he  is  in  the  field, 
He's  Freedom's  long-tried  friend, 

Let  freemen  rally  'round  their  chief, 
Whose  fame  shall  never  end. 

Chorus — Ho !  Ho  !  for  Freedom,  &c* 


15 
THE  BAY  STATE  HURRAH. 

Am — "  Hurrah  Song.9' 

FREMONT'S  the  chief  to  lead  the  way, 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  hurrah  ! 
The  fire  by  night — the  cloud  by  day, 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  hurrah  ! 
Mailed  in  truth  and  strong  in  hand. 
He'll  bring  us  to  the  Promised  Land. 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  hurrah  !  hurrah  ! 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  !    hurrah  ! 

The  Ship  of  State,  with  tattered  sail, 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  hurrah  ! 
Is  madly  driving  'fore  the  gale, 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  hurrah ! 
He'll  soon  repair  her  crippled  form, 
And  bring  her  safely  through  the  storm, 

Hurrah  !  &c. 

The  sable  flag  that  o'er  her  waves, 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  hurrah  ! 
Shall  float  no  longer  over  slaves, 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  hurrah  ! 
And  not  forgetting  Buck  and  Breck, 
He'll  sweep  the  pirates  from  her  deck. 

Hurrah  !  &c. 

But  Freedom's  stars  and  stripes  shall  wave, 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  hurrah  ! 
Above  the  foe  and  o'er  the  brave, 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  hurrah  ! 
From  Kansas'  dark  and  bloody  ground, 
To  California's  farthest  bound. 

Hurrah  !   &c. 

Free  Speech,  Fremont,  will  aye  defend, 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  hurrah  ! 
And  Slavery's  curse  he'll  ne'er  extend, 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  hurrah  ! 


16 

He  goes  for  Freedom's  holy  cause, 
For  equal  rights,  and  equal  laws. 
Hurrah  !  &c. 

And  Kansas,  too,  shall  have  her  due, 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  hurrah  ! 
He'll  save  her  from  the  ruffian  crew, 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  hurrah  ! 
In  spite  of  Douglas  and  his  pack, 
He'll  turn  the  tide  of  conquest  back. 

Hurrah !  &c. 

Then  let  us  all,  with  loud  acclaim, 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  hurrah ! 
Repeat  the  chorus  with  a  name, 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  hurrah  ! 
A  name  at  which  the  tyrant  quails, 
A  name  which  every  good  man  hails, 

Fremont,  Fremont,  Fremont,  Fremont ! 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  hurrah  ! 

Then  rally,  Freemen,  for  the  fight, 

Hurrah !  hurrah  !  hurrah  ! 
The  arm  of  God  is  for  the  right, 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  hurrah  ! 
The  right  he'll  own,  and  bless  the  hand 
That  strikes  for  Freedom  through  the  land. 

Hurrah  !  hurrah !  hurrah  !   hurrah  ! 

Fremont !  Fremont !  Fremont ! 


IT 
DOUGLAS'S  LAMENT— [OVER  THE  LEFT.] 

AIR — "  Susanna." 

As  I  walked  out  the  other  night, 

When  all  around  was  still, 
I  met  a  team  called  "  Buck  and  Break," 

A  jogging  down  the  hill ; 
Steve  Douglas  sat  behind  and  drove, 

A  twinkle  in  his  eye, 
And  sotto  voce,  thus  he  sang, 

"  Old  Buck,  you'd  better  cry  ; 
Chorus — Oh,  Buchanan, 

You  need  n't  cry  for  me^ 
You'll  need  your  salt  drops  for  yourself, 

You'll  see  what  you  will  see." 

"  My  platform  swallowed  you  entire, 

Your  body,  breeches,  boots, 
But  '  that's'  no  sort  of  consequence,' 

As  'twas  with  Mr.  Toots  ;" 
The  South  don't  more  than  half  trust  you, 

The  North  your  name  will  scout, 
And  like  your  Osfcend  Circular, 

You're  bound  to  fizzle  out  ! 
Chorus. — Oh,  Buchanan, 

I  told  you  how  'twould  be, 
You'll  break  your  neck,  both  Buck  and  Breck^ 

And  leave  the  track  for  me." 

'"  That  drop  of  Democratic  blood, 

You  squeezed  out  of  your  veins, 
Will  hardly  pay  '  ten  cents  a  day  ; ' 

And '  gutta  percha  canes' 
Won't  help  to  drive  you  round  the  course^ 

Your  Southern  wind's  unsound  ; 
I'll  bet  a  *  dime'  the  '  Mustang*  horse 

Will  run  you  '  to  the  ground  !' 


18 

Chorus. — Oh,  Buchanan, 

You  will  be  blown  sky  high  ; 
I'm  going  down  to  see  the  fun, 

But  'taint  for  me  to  cry." 

• 

"  Tis  time  you  fogies  were  killed  off, 

'Tis  time  that  General  Pierce 
Should  pack  his  '  duds'  and  fix  himself 3 

To  walk  behind  your  hearse  ! 
You  scape  goats  carrying  off  my  sins, 

'G'lang' — you  travel  slow  ; 
But  never  mind,  you're  headed  right, 

You're  going  down  below  ! 
Chorus. — Oh,  Buchanan, 

You  need't  cry  for  me, 
Oh,  don't  you  wish  you  had  a  wife, 

Like  John  Fremont— -and  me  !  " 

Thus  Douglas  to  himself  did  sing, 

Thinks  I,  you  have  told  more 
Of  sober  truth,  than  you  have  spoke 

In  twenty  years  before  ! 
Fremont  will  be  our  President, 

Fremont,  the  brave  and  bold, 
Old  Breck,  and  you,  and  all  your  crew, 

Will  just  be  laid  out  cold  ! 
Chorus. — Oh,  Buchanan, 

You'd  better  cry,  you  see, 
FREMONT  WILL  BE  THE  PRESIDENT, 

AND  KANSAS  WILL  BE  FREE. 


19 
OUR  GALLANT  LEADER. 

Am.— "  Blue  Bells  of  Scotland.1' 
Oh  !  whom,  tell  me  whom,  do  you  follow  to  the  field  ? 
Oh  !  whom,  tell  me  whom,  do  you  follow  to  the  field? 
We  follow  young  Fremont,  the  brave,  who  ne'er  was 

known  to  yield, 
With  Freedom  and  Humanity  inscribed  upon  his  shield. 

With  whom,  tell  me  whom,  do  you  battle  in  the  strife  ? 
With  whom,  tell  me  whom,  do  you  battle  in  the  strife  ? 
We  battle  with  the  ruffians  who  wield  the  scalping  knife, 
With  their  hands  dripping  blood  from  a  Northern  free 
man's  life. 

By  whom,  tell  me  whom,  were  these  outrages  begun  ? 
By  whom,  tell  me  whom,  were  these  outrages  begun  ? 
By  traitor  Arnold  Douglas,  Toombs,  Pierce  and  Atchin- 

son, 
Southern  lords  and  Northern  traitors,  in  their  haunts  at 

Washington. 

For  whom,   tell  me  whom,  were  these  daring  projects 

planned  ? 
For  whom,  tell  me  whom,  were  these  daring  projects 

planned  ? 
For  your  Keifets  and  bully  Brookses,  who  expect  to  rule 

the  land, 
With  their  white  and  their  black  slaves  alike,  beneath 

their  hand. 

On  whom,  tell  me  whom,  was  the  blow  designed  to  fall  ? 
On  whom,  tell  me  whom,  was  the  blow  designed  to  fall  ? 
On  you  and  I,  my  brother,  and  upon  those  freemen  all, 
Who  refuse  to  turn  doughfaces,  and  to  follow  at  their  call. 

By  whom,  tell  me  whom,  is  this  policy  pursued? 
By  whom,  tell  me  whom,  is  this  policy  pursued  ? 
By  James  Buchanan,  and  by  all  the  office-holding  brood, 
On  the  Cincinnati  Platform,"  with  its  stained  and  rotten 
wood. 

Oh !  whom,  tell  me  whom,  shall  we  trust  to  lead  us  on? 
Oh !  whom,  tell  me  whom,  shall  we  trust  to  lead  us  on? 
JOHN  C.  FREMONT'S  the  man,  my  boys  !— the  field's 

already  won, 
By  the  name  and  the  fame  of  our  second  WASHINGTON. 


20 


MAINE  THUNDER. 

AIR. — "  Pop  goes  the  Weazel" 
Old  Jimmy,  awaiting  the  news  from  Maine, 

Was  lost  in  anxious  wonder, 
When  all  at  once,  to  his  surprise, 

Boom  !  goes  the  Thunder  ! 

Oh  !  dear,  what  terrible  sound  is  that 

Which  rends  the  air  asunder, 
A  storm  is  brewing,  I  greatly  dread, 

Boom  !  goes  the  Thunder  ! 

A  Northeast  storm,  as  I'm  alive, 

It  's  roaring  over  yonder, 
A  Northeast  storm,  with  lightning,  too, 

Boom  !  goes  the  Thunder  ! 

If  Hannibal  Hamlin  's  governor  now, 

We  might  as  well  knock  under, 
There's  no  more  luck  for  poor  old  Buck, 

Boom  !  goes  the  Thunder ! 

Charles  Gordon  Greene,   'tis  plain  to  be  seen, 
Has  made  a  terrible  blunder,  , 

They've  taken  his  gold,  but  we've  been  sold, 
Boom !  goes  the  Thunder ! 

I  am  used  up,  as  sure  as  a  gun, 

I  get  no  more  of  plunder, 
I  wish  I'd  remained,  at  the  court  of  St.  James, 

Boom  !  goes  the  Thunder  ! 


21 


FREMONT'S  DREAM. 

Am — "  Susannah." 
I  had  a  dream  the  other  night, 

When  everything  was  still  ; 
I  dream' d  I  saw  Buchanan 

A  rolling  down  the  hill, 
A  farewell  speech  was  in  his  mouth, 

A  tear  was  in  his  eye, 
Said  I,  "Old  Buck,  you're  too  far  south, 

Buchanan  don't  you  cry." 

CHORUS — Oh,  Buchanan  ! 

Don't  you  cry  for  me  ; 
I'm  bound  unto  the  White  House, 

As  you  will  shortly  see. 

Said  he  "  Dear  John,  0  speak  not  so, 

It  grieves  my  heart  full  sore, 
You  know  my  party  it  is  sham, 

And  I  am  Buck  no  more." 
"  You  know  my  name  is  changed,  'tis  true, 

And  I'm  a  worthless  hack  ;  ''' 
With  a  woful  look,  he  thus  did  say, 

The  "  mustang  "  s'  on  my  track. 
CHORUS — Oh,  Buchanan  !  &c. 

With  tearful  eyes,  he  said  adieu, 

And  burning  was  his  brow, 
He  said  "  dear  John,  take  my  farewell, 

I  am  a  platform  now." 
He  sent  his  love  to  all  his  friends, 

And  weeping,  he  did  say — 
Farewell  unto  the  White  House, 

And  thus  he  passed  away. 
Oh,  Buchanan !  &c. 


22 

BABY  WAKERS. 

TUNE.— "Lullaby" 

Jimmy,  in  his  chamber  dreary, 

Busy  darning  up  his  hose, 
Heard  afar  those  echoes  cheery, 

W hich  from  gallant  Maine  arose. 
Chorus. — 

ec  Oh  !   those  dreadful  baby  wakers, 
How  they  fill  my  soul  with  fear, 
I  begin  to  hear  the  breakers, 
Our  old  craft  is  drifting  near. 

First  Iowa  democratic, 

Always  true  as  steel  before, 
Shakes  the  house  from  ground  to  attic, 

With  its  unexpected  roar. 
Chorus. — 

Then  Vermont— I  thought  'twas  thunder, 
That  I  heard  among  the  hills. 

But  my  friends  revealed  the  blunder, 

By  the  whiteness  of  their  gills. 
Chorus. — 

I  expected  to  be  beaten, 

On  that  old  Green  Mountain  height,     » 
But  had  not  dreamed  of  being  eaten 

Horns  and  all,  clean  out  of  sight. 
Chorus. — 

Choate,  'twas  said,  would  surely  quiz  'em, 

And  would  do  the  old  Whigs  brown, 
But  I  find  somnambulism 


Is  an  cc  ism  "  won't  go  down. 


Chorus. — 


Now,  as  I  sit  here  despairing, 
And  bewailing  my  sad  fate, 


23 

Through  the  lofty  forests  tearing 

Echoes  loud  the  Pine  Tree  State. 
Chorus.— 

Thou,  too,  Maine,  my  heart's  best  treasure, 
Loved  as  cat  ne'er  loved  a  mouse, 

Gold  we  sent  you  without  measure, 
From  the  Boston  Custom  House. 
Chorus. — 

Now  you've  been  and  gone  and  done  it, 

Vast  majorities  you've  piled, 
But,  if  really  bent  upon  it, 

Why  not,  Maine,  have  "drawn  it  mild  ?" 

Chorus. — 

Sad  and  lonely  sit  I  grieving, 

All  my  fondest  hopes  have  flown, 
Party  rats  my  ship  are  leaving^ 

'Cause  they  see  'tis  going  down." 
Chorus. — 


KALLYING    SONG. 

AIR. — "  Bruce.7 s  Address.'* 

Onward  !  onward  !  to  the  fight ! 
Buchanan's  hosts  we'll  put  to  flight  ; 
We'll  plant  the  tree  of  truth  and  right 
On  soil  that  shall  be  free. 

Let  freedom's  banner  be  unfurled  ; 
Let  it  wave  throughout  the  world, 
The  might  of  Slavery  downward  hurled, 
And  western  Kansas  free  ! 


24 

Fremont  will  lift  our  standard  high, 
Let  Fillmoreites  before  it  fly  ; 
And  Slavery's  cohorts  droop  and  die, 
On  soil  that  must  be  free. 

"  Fremont  and  Dayton"  is  our  song, 
From  hill  to  hill  the  notes  prolong, 
Through  all  the  air,  an  echo  strong — 
Fremont  and  victory ! 

Fremont — Fremont,  and  Dayton,  too, 
Our  candidates-— and  they  will  do 

To  whip  the  Buck  and  Fillmore  crew, 
And  keep  our  borders  free. 

Then  buckle  on  your  armor  bright ; 

Stand  to  your  arms  in  valiant  fight ; 
Fremont,  the  noble  and  the  right, 

Will  lead  to  victory. 

Hark  !  victory  rings  o'er  hill  and  plain, 
From  Iowa  to  eastern  Maine, 
And  Vermont  answers  back  again, 
Let  east  and  west  be  free  ! 

Loud  shout  in  this  victorious  hour, 
For  Buck  and  Breck  have  lost  their  power  ; 
The  Fillmore  crew — -see  how  they  cower, 
Before  the  brave  and  free  ! 

Forward,  ye  brave  men,  to  the  front* 
No  coward  fears  our  heart  shall  daunt ! 
Be  this  our  war-cry,  for  "  Fremont, 
Free  Speech,  and  Victory  !" 


Am.  —  "Braes  o'  Balquither." 

Let  us  sing,  brothers,  sing, 

With  our  flag  waving  o'er  us, 
Make  the  glad  echoes  ring, 

For  there's  glory  before  us. 
On  the  mountains  afar 

We  behold  its  bright  beaming, 
It  gleams  like  a  star; 

We're  awake,  we're  not  dreaming. 

Let  us  singj  &c. 


A  chieftain  we  own, 

Nobly  worthy  our  rally  ; 
Wise  and  brave  he  is  known, 

On  hill,  stream,  lake  and  valley. 
We  know  of  -our  land, 

Every  mountain  and  river, 
And  he  means  all  free  land, 

Shall  be  free  land  forever. 

Let  us  sing,  &c. 

In  a  Rocky  Mountain  hut, 

Was  our  chief  when  we  found  him; 
In  a  palace  we'll  set  him 

With  his  dear  ones  around  him. 
For  his  name  lights  the  land, 

Lights  the  hill,  lake  and  river, 
Like  a  mount  let  it  stand, 

Glory  gilded  forever. 

Let  us  sing,  &c, 

For  the  hero  three  cheers, 

Loud  as  storm's  loudest  rattle  > 
For  his  Jessie,  three  more, 

Then  on  to  the  battle. 
We  shall  never  be  beat, 

To  contend  we'll  cease  never— 
For  our  cry  is  Free  Land 

Shall  be  Free  Land  forever. 

Let  us  sing,  &c. 


26 

EXPRESS  SONG. 
AIR. — A  little  more  Cider* 

Erastns  Brooks,  of  the  Express, 

Is  really  nominated 
For  Governor  of  New  York  State  ; 

Oh  !  isn't  he  elated  ? 
He'll  swell  and  strut  and  strut  and  swell, 

And  cut  up  many  a  caper, 
And  lots  of  monstrous  dirty  stuff, 

Will  publish  in  his  paper, 

Chorus. — And  a  little  more  lying,  too, 
And  a  little  more  lying,  too, 
A  little  more  lying  he'll  be  trying, 
A  little  more  lying,  too. 

For  this  he's  struggled  long  and  hard, 

And  done  all  sorts  of  evil : 
He's  sold  his  body  to  the  south, 

His  soul  unto  the  d 1. 

lago  honest,  was  a  trump, 

But  could'nt  hold  a  candle 
To  honest  'Hast  of  the  Express, 

In  dealing  out  the  scandal. 

Chorus. — And  a  little  more  lying,  too,  &c. 

Fremont's  religion  much  concerns, 

Our  politician  pious  ; 
He  fears  he  is  a  catholic, 

Does  modern  Ananias ; 
And  in  the  face  and  eyes  of  all 

The  plainest  contradictions, 
His  brazen  sheet  reiterates 

The  Cook  &  Fulmer  fictions. 

Chorus. — With  a  little  more  lying,  too,  &c. 

He  knows  he  lied  within  his  throat, 

When  first  he  penned  the  slander, 
But  that  old  vacant  squirrel  hole, 

It  riz  dog  Noble's  dander. 
Although  he  knows  there's  not  a  man 

Believes  him  for  a  minute, 
As  long  as  there's  an  empty  hole, 

He'll  keep  a  barking  in  it. 

Chorus. — Aud  a  little  more  lying,  too,  &c. 


While  we  dislike  religious  tests, 

The  story's  getting  common, 
That  our  Erastus  Brooks  himself 

Is  secretly  a  Mormon  ! 
That  he's  one  hundred  wives  at  least, 

Kept  in  seclusion  quiet, 
That  Brigham  Young  pronounced  the  banns, 

If  false,  let  Brook's  deny  it. 

('•horns :— -With  a  little  more  lying,  too,  &c. 


POOR  OLD   BUCK. 
AIR. —  Uncle  Ned. 

There  is  an  old  donkey,  a  worn  out  old  jack, 

Too  old  to  live  very  long, 
He  has  no  bone  in  the  middle  of  his  back, 

Where  his  bones  ought  to  grow  very  strong, 

Chorus.—?- Then  let  down  the  bars  very  low, 
And  drive  out  the  poor  old  Joe; 

There's  no  more  work  for  poor  old  Buck, 
Let  him  go  where  the  old  nags  go. 

His  legs  are  long  when  he  trots  after  votes, 
But  he  has  no  eyes  for  to  see  ; 

And  his  teeth  are  worn  out  eating  public  oats, 
So  he'll  have  to  let  the  public  oats  be, 

Chorus. — Then  let  down  the  bars  very  low,  &c. 

He  always  pulls  wrong,  with  a  very  hard  jerk, 
Which  gives  to  the  driver  much  trouble; 

He's  not  at  all  fit  for  our  kind  of  work 
For  he's  never  yet  learned  to  go  double. 

Chorus. — Then  let  down  the  bars  very  low,  £c. 

What's  the  use  of  a  nag  with  so  many  bad  ways, 

So  stubborn,  so  old  and  so  slow  ? 
The  best  we  can  do  is  to  turn  him  out  to  grass, 

In  the  fields  where  the  short  grasses  grow. 

Chorus.— Then  let  down  the  bars  very  low,  £o. 


28 

THE  KINDEEHOGK  FOX  TO  THE  WHEATLAND 

BUCK. 

Am—"  Wait  for  the  Wagon." 

Will  you  come  with  me,  my  Jimmy  dear,  your  passage 

shall  be  free, 

Where  Salt  River  runs  the  fastest,  0  come  along  with  me; 
My  cabbages  are  all  on  board,  my  boat's  upon  the  tide, 
And  early  in  November — we'll  all  take  the  ride. 
Chorus.— Wait  till  November,  wait  till  November, 

Wait  till  November,  and  we'll  all  take  a  ride. 

'Tis  sixteen  years  ago,  this  fall,  since  first  I  took  the  sail, 
And  if  the  wind  holds  where  it  is,  you'll  have  as  fair  a  gale. 
You'll  find  it  rather  lonesome  there,  when  first  you  find 

you're  pinned, 
But  soon  like   this  old  fox,  you  will  get  used  to  being 

skinned. 
Chorus. — Wait  till  November,  &c. 

In  '40  when  I  took  the  trip,  at  Harrison's  expense, 

1  should  have  staid  put,  if  I'd  had  the  smallest  grain  of 

sense  ; 
But  trying,  by  my  John's  advice,  to  guide  the  ship  of 

State, 
I  was  compelled  to  take  the  sail,  -in  eighteen  forty-eight. 

Chorus. — Wait  till  November,  &c. 

And  when  I  heard  they'd  set  up  you,  old  Molly  Coddle 

Bach, 

I  told  my  John  to  turn  about,  cut  stick  and  gravel  scratch; 
And  when  he  said,  that  on  the  goose  they'd  got  you 

right  and  tight, 
At  once  replied  I,  "  demme  John,  that  goose's  a  cock 

won't  fight." 
Chorus. — Wait  till  November,  &c. 

But  that  likely  lot  of  niggers,  that  John  is  going  to  wed, 
And  love,  and  honor,  and  obey,  completely  turned  my 

head ; 

And  now  I've  taken  you  in  tow,  I  find  I'm  going  back, 
A  second  flying  Dutchman,  upon  the  same  old  track. 
Chorus. — Wait  till  November,  &c. 


29 

I  think  you'd  better  strike  your  flag,  although  it  is  sub 
lime, 

And   I've  heard  them  say  there  was   a  man  all  in  the 
olden  time, 

Who  had  precisely  such  a  flag  unto  his  mizzen  nailed, 

"  And  his  name  was — Captain  Kyd,  as  he  sailed — as  he 

sailed." 
Chorus. — Wait  till  November,  &c. 

You'll  find  the  trip  a  long  one,  they  will  not  let  you  stop, 
But  keep  up  the  excursion  till  they've  rowed  you  to  the 

top  ; 
Then  come  along,  my  Jimmy,  to  Salt  River's  farthest 

town, 
And  there   be  snugly  packed  away,  a  Buck  well  salted 

down. 
Chorus. — Wait  till  November,  &c. 


OLD  JAMMIE  BUCK,  MY  JO, 

AIR — John  Anderson,  my  Jo. 

Auld  Jamie  Buck,  my  Jo,  Jem, 

When  we  were  first  acquaint  ; 
Ye  were  a  blue-light  Federalist, 

Of  most  unsavory  taint ; 
But  now  ye  are  a  Democrat —   ' 

At  least  ye  tell  us  so — 
Forgi'e  me,  but  it  winna  do, 

Auld  Jamie  Buck,  my  Jo. 

Auld  Buck,  ye  once  protested 

That  if  within  a  vein, 
A  drop  of  Democratic  blood 

Your  carcass  should  profane, 
Ye'd  tap  it  like  a  cask  of  ale, 

And  let  it  out,  you  know  ; 
But  syne  ye  croon  anither  tune, 

Auld  Jamie  Buck,  my  Jo. 

And  weel  I  mind  the  time,  Jem, 

When  ye  were  wont  to  say 
That  puir  folk  should  be  satisfied 

To  win  ten  cents  a  day; 


And  now  the  puir  man's  vote,  Jem, 

Ye're  speerin  for,  I  trow  ; 
But,  troth,  I  think  ye'll  wait  a  wee, 

Auld  Jamie  Buck,  my   Jo. 

Auld  Buck,  ye  doug-faced  noodle, 

We  ken  a  lad  or  twa 
Wha'll  by  the  Constitution  stand, 

The  Union  and  the  Law  ; 
Fremont  and  Dayton  are  the  chiels 

For  whom  we  mean  to  go  ; 
And  you  may  bide  at  home  the  whiles, 

Auld  Jamie  Buck,  my  Jo. 


RALLYING    SONG. 

TUNE — Cfc  Marseillaies  Hymn" 

Behold  !   the  furious  storm  is  rolling, 

Which  Border-Fiericls,  confederates,  raise, 
The  Dogs  of  War,  let  loose,  are  howling, 

And  lo  !  our  infant  cities  blaze. 
And  shall  we  calmly  view  the  ruin, 

While  lawless  force  with  giant  stride, 

Spreads  desolation  far  and  wide. 
In  guiltless  blood  his  hands  imbruing  ? 

Arise,  arise,  ye  brave  ! 

And  let  our  war-cry  be 

Free  Speech,  Free  Press,  Free  Soil,  Free  Men, 
FRE-MONT  and  VICTORY  ! 

Oh,  Liberty  !  can  he  resign  thee 

Who  once  has  felt  thy  generous  flame  ? 

Can  threats  subdue,  or  bolts  confine  thee — 
Or  whips  thy  noble  spirit  tame  ? 

No  !  by  the  heavens  bright  bending  o'er  us  ! 
We've  called  our  captain  to  the  van — 
Behold  the  hour — behold  the  man  ! 

Oh,  wise  and  valiant,  go  before  us  ! 
Then  let  the  shout  again 
Ring  out  from  sea  to  sea, 

Free  Speech,  Free  Press,  Free  Soil,  Free  Men, 
FRE-MONT  and  VICTORY  ! 


•il 

Hurrah,  hurrah,  from  hill  and  valley, — > 
Hurrah  from  prairie  wild  and  free  ! 

Around  onr  glorious  Chieftian  rally, 
For  KANZAS  and  for  LIBERTY  ! 

Let  him  who  first  her  wilds  exploring, 
Her  virgin  beauty  gave  to  fame, 
Now  save  her  from  the  curse  and  shame 

Which  Slavery  o'er  her  soil  is  pouring. 
Our  Standard  Bearer,  then, 
The  brave  Pathfinder  be  ! 

Free  Speech,  Free  Press,  Free  Soil,  Free  Men> 
FIIE-MONT  and  VICTORY  ! 


From   the  Providence  Journal. 

FREMONT   IS  THE  NAME, 

AIR — "  Bob  and  Joan.'7 
Alas  !  for  poor  old  Buck, 

He  has  no  chance  of  winning, 
Every  day's  bad  luck 

Is  worse  than  the  beginning. 
He's  lost  the  power  of  speech, 
Yet  still  a  wondrous  wizzard, 
He's  swallowed  up  himself 
His  backbone  and  his  gizzard. 
FREMONT  is  the  name 

Shall  shine  in  song  and  story  $ 
We  choose  him  for  our  chief 
To  lead  us  on  to  glory. 

The  southron's  plighted  faith, 

The  doughface  pledges  given, 
Are  records  of  that  place 

The  opposite  of  heaven. 
The  political  sin 

Of  Pierce,  and  Brooks,  and  Shannon, 
Just  like  a  glass  of  gin, 

Are  swallowed  by  Buchanan. 
Fremont  is  the  name,  &c. 

No  prose  of  Rufus  Choate, 

Nor  Democratic  stanzas, 
No  parapraphs  rub  out 

The  history  of  Kanzas. 
The  people  know  their  men, 

And  choose  their  own  true  leader, 


82 

No  political  hack, 
No  Union  seceder. 

Fremont  is  the  name,  &c> 

The  man  who  loves  his  race, 

And  loving — he  shall  lead  'em> 
He  ope'd  the  golden  gate, 

Of  California's  freedom. 
And  Kansas  soon  shall  feel 

The  power  of  his  protection, 
For  freemen  everywhere 

Are  bent  on  his  election. 

Fremont  is  the  name,  &c. 

Then  let  the  trumpet  sound, 

Loud  roar  the  thundering  cannon,- 
The  triumph  of  Fremont, 

The  downfall  of  Buchanan. 
Let  merry  peals  ring  forth 

From  every  tower  and  steeple. 
And  East,  West,  North  and  South, 

Be  one  united  people. 
Fremont  is  the  name 


AIR — "  Fra  Diavolo." 
Upon  the  Rocky  Mountain 
That  firm  and  mighty  heart,  behold 
Fast  his  country's  flag  he  holds, 
The  glorious  flag  of  old. 
This  way  his  steps  inclining, 
His  fame  has  reached  us  long  ago, 
He  conquered  gold  for  freemen  thens 
Now  fights  he  a  freeman's  foe — 

Tremble. 

Even  now  the  storm  is  rolling, 
Afar  hear  echo  calling 

To  White  House, 

To  White  House, 

To  White  House. 
Even  now  the  storm  is  rolling, 
Afar  hear  echo  calling, 

To  White  House, 

To  White  House, 

To  White  House. 


33 

UNCLE  SAM'S  BOSS  FARMER. 
TUNE.— "  Old  Dog  Tray." 

Says  Uncle  Sam  to  me, 

I'm  in  a  quandary, 
I  want  a  good  boss  to  manage  my  affairs. 

Says  I  to  Uncle  Sam, 

I  know  the  very  man 
Who'll  quietly  put  an  end  to  your  cares. 

JOHN  C.  FREMONT  is  the  man,  sir, 

He'll  soon  quiet  your  alarm, 
He's  faithful  and  he's  true, 
And  you'll  never,  never  rue 

The  day  you  make  him  boss  of  your  farm. 

Says  he,  the  man  I've  got 

Was  never  worth  a  jot 
To  be  fit  for  the  place  he  never  did  begin, 

He's  kicked  up  such  a  row, 

And  to  stop  it  don't  know  how, 
That  he's  turned  out  worse  than  he  came  in, 

(Says  I,)  John  C.  Fremont  is  the  man,  sir,  &c.  &c. 

Says  he,  there's  Platform  Jeems, 

But  he's  not  himself  it  seems, 
He  says  he  is  a  plank,  and  nothing  else,  you  know 

I  want  no  wooden  man, 

They're  only  useful  when 
You  (k)need  a  batch  of  soft  northern  dough. 

(Says  I,)  John  C.  Fremont  is  the  man,  sir.  &c.  &c. 

Says  he,  there's  one  I  tried 

When  good  old  Taylor  died, 
But  he  made  a  saucy  speech  the  other  day,  you  know, 

And  I  mean  to  have  my  way, 

And  1  mean  to  have  my  say, 
And  I  tell  him  all  his  threats  are  "  no  go." 

(Says  I,)  John  C  Fremont  is  the  man,  sir,  &c.  &c. 

5 


34 

Says  he,  I  think  so  tod, 

And  I  will  put  him  through, 
He's  got  the  true  grit,  and  is  a  faithful  guide, 

He'll  make  my  people  hoe, 

Each  his  particular  row, 
And  he'll  stop  this  crowding  on  to  t'other  side. 

Yes,  JOHN  C.  FREMONT  is  the  man,  sir, 

He'll  soon  quiet  my  alarm, 
He's  faithful  and  he's  true, 
And  he'll  never,  never  rue 

The  day  I  make  him  boss  of  my  farm. 


THERE  IS  THE  WHITE  HOUSE  YONDER. 

AIR, — A  few  days. 

(By  permission  of  S.  T.  Gordon,  New- York,  Publisher  of  the  Music.) 

A  song  I've  got,  my  friends,  for  you, 

Few  days,  few  days ; 
The  tone  and  style  will  please  you,  too, 

For  we're  going  home. 
Fremont  and  freedom  is  our  word, 

Few  days,  few  days  ; 
We've  nailed  our  flag  and  drawn  our  sword, 

For  we're  going  home. 

Chorus. — For  there's  the  White  House  yonder, 

Few  days,  few  days, 
Fremont  and  Dayton's  bound  there ; 

We're  going  home ; 
We  can't  be  kept  back  longer, 

Few  days,  few  days, 
Every  day  we're  growing  stronger, 

We're  going  home. 


35 

Old  ten  cent  Jimmy  is  no  go ! 

Few  days,  few  days, 
And  Breckenridge  is  far  too  slow, 

We're  going  home  ; 
They  both  endorse  weak  Pierce's  reign, 

Few  days,  few  days, 
Which  on  our  country  leaves  a  stain ; 

We're  going  home. 
Chorus. — 

Old  Benton  says  he's  out  for  Buck, 

Few  days,  few  days, 
But  his  finger  on  his  nose  is  stuck ; 

We're  going  home. 
Fremont's  the  man,  he  surely  knows, 

Few  days,  few  days, 
Or  if  he  don't  his  daughter  does, 

We're  going  home. 
Chorus. — 

Old  Bachelors  are  low  in  rate, 

Few  days,  few  days, 
They'd  never  populate  a  State, 

We're  going  home. 
The  White  House  party's  must  not  drag, 

Few  days,  few  days, 
And  what  could  Bucks  be  but  a  stag, 

We're  going  home. 
Chorus. — 

Tho'  Fremont,  he  was  born  down  thar, 

Few  days,  few  days, 
He's  strong  as  his  Rocky  Mountain  Bar ;  (bear) 

We're  going  home. 
He's  made  our  California  State — 

Few  days,  few  dayp, 
It's  made  us  rich — -we'll  make  him  great, 

We're  going  home. 
Chorus. — 


36 

And  now,  my  friends,  we  vote  a  health, 

Few  days,  few  days, 
To  our  first  choice — the  nation's  wealth, 

We're  going  home  ; 
Freedom  and  Fremont  is  the  word, 

Few  days,  few  days, 
We've  nailed  our  flag  and  drawn  our  sword, 

We're  going  home. 

Chorus. — 


SAD  VOYAGE. 

AIR. — "Ok,  Susanna" 

I  dream't  a  dream  the  other  night, 

A  doughface's  blood  'twould  stop ; 
I  dream't  I  saw  old  "  Buck  and  Breck," 

Salt  river  rowing  up, 
While  Bully  Brooks  cried  from  the  shore, 

"  Buchanan  don't  you  cry, 
We  won't  be  ruled  by  John  Fremont : 

We're  goin'  to  nullify." 

"  Oh,  Buchanan, 

You  need'nt  cry  for  me, 
For  when  salt  river  you've  rowed  up, 

I'm  going  out  to  sea. 

"  I'm  goin'  to  march  to  Washington 

With  forty  thousand  men, 
I'm  goin'  to  seize  the  treasury  ; 

What  will  the  North  do  then  t 


37 

The  South  shall  have  a  President — 

One  of  her  own — you'll  see  ; 
I'm  sure  I  am  a  modest  man, 

But  pray  !    Who  will  he  be  ?" 

"  Oh,  Buchanan,"  &c. 

Poor  "  Buck  "  will  have  good  company 

On  his  melancholy  row, 
For  the  front  seat  of  the  boat's  reserved 

For  Mi-lord  Fill,  you  know. 
How  sad  they'll  feel  as  they  row  up, 

And  how  they'll  heave  a  sigh, 
When  they  think  of  Fremont's  victory, 

And  hear  the  «  Bully"  cry. 

"  Oh,  Buchanan,"  &c. 

As  pants  the  hart  for  cooling  streams, 

When  heated  in  the  chase  ; 
So  pants  the  Buck  for  the  White  House, 

And  presidential  place. 
And  'tis  too  bad,  that  poor  old  Buck 

Will  have  to  hear,  at  last, 
The  ruffian  Brooks  call  from  the  bank, 

As  he  goes  rowing  past — 

"  Oh,  Buchanan,"  £c. 

Then,  when  Thanksgiving  week  comes  round, 

And  'lection  day  is  o'er, 
T'will  be  our  duty  to  give  thanks 

For  one  great  blessing  more  ; 
For  as  we  pass  the  turkey  round, 

And  eat  the  pumpkin  pies, 
Poor  Buck  is  sadly  rowing  up, 

While  Bully  Preston  cries — 

"  Oh,  Buchanan,"  &c. 


38 

THE  DOUGH  FACE. 

AIR. — The  Cork  Leg. 

A  curious  story  111  relate, 

Concerning  a  gentleman  very  sedate, 

Who,  by  one  of  those  whimsical  freaks  of  fate, 

Awoke  one  morning  and  found  himself  great. 

Ee  too-ral,  loo-ral,  loo-ral,  loo-ral,  li, 

Too-ral,  loo-ral,  loo-ral,  la. 

Old  Zachary  Taylor,  the  people  did  choose, 
Whose  opinions  exactly  agreed  with  their  views ; 
But  brave  Eough  and  Ready,  by  death  they  did  loose. 
And  the  lucky  old  fellow  stepped  into  his  shoes. 
Ee  too-ral,  loo-lal,  &c. 

So  he  moved  himself  to  the  great  White  House, 
And  tucked  himself  up  as  snug  as  a  mouse, 
Till  Franklin  Pierce  his  glim  did  douse, 
Cutting  off  his  supply  of  public  souse. 
Ee  too-ral,  loo-ral,  &c. 

Then  he  said  to  himself,  'tis  my  best  plan 
To  travel  about  as  much  as  I  can, 
And  let  the  dear  people  my  countenance  scan, 
For  I'm  really  a  handsome  and  wonderful  man. 
Ee  too-ral,  loo-ral,  &c. 

I  think  that  the  South  is  the  place  to  begin, 
It  plays  at  a  game  where  you  lose  or  I  win, 
And  then  Slavery  is  a  most  horrible  sin, 
The  North,  simple  creature,  is  bound  to  cave  in. 
Ee  too-ral,  loo-ral,  &c. 

And  so  he  adopted  this  excellent  trick, 
And  the  toadies  unto  him  did  constantly  stick, 
And  bowing  and  scraping,  our  stunning  old  brick 
Said,  '  thank  you  dear  people,  pray  spread  it  on  thick.' 
Ee  too-ral,  loo-ral,  &c. 


39 

And  so  lie  went  on,  till  he'd  finished  his  round — 
Had  laid  out  his  corns  and  measured  his  ground — 
And  the  head  politicians  he  firmly  had  bound, 
To  follow  and  swallow  his  wisdom  profound. 
Ee  too-ral,  loo-ral,  &c. 

Now  I'll  tickle  New  York,  said  our  cunning  old  coon, 
A  word  to  the  wise  was  sufficient,  and  soon 
The  New  Yorkers  adopted  the  very  same  tune, 
And  exhibited  Millard  at  Niblo's  saloon. 
Ee  too-ral,  loo-ral,  &c. 

Now,  said  he,  the  Whig  party  has  gone  to  the  dogs, 
But  the  Know  Nothing  team  right  merrily  jogs, 
I  think  that  I  will,  e're  I'm  lost  in  the  fogs, 
Undergo  dark-lantern  baptism  by  Scroggs. 
Re  too-ral,  loo-ral,  &:c. 

Then  fearing  to  answer,  ah,  yes  or  no, 
Said  he  to  himself,  I  to  Europe  will  go, 
And  there  my  magnificent  figure  I'll  show, — 
Shake  hands  with  the  Queen,  and  kiss  the  Pope's  toe. 
Ee  too-ral,  loo-ral,  &c. 

So  thither  he  went,  and  travelled  about, 
And  had  a  good  time,  I  have'nt  a  doubt, 
For  he  praised  all  the  tyrants,  who  liberty  flout, 
And  then,  at  the  end,  returned  with  the  gout. 
Ee  too-ral,  loo-ral,  ^c. 

The  first  thing  he  did,  when  he  came  o'er  the  seas, 
And  landed  on  shore,  was  to  drop  on  his  knees, 
And  say,  now  elect  me  your  President,  please, 
You  know  I  have  taken  all  of  the  degrees. 
Ee  too-ral  loo-ral,  &c. 

To  his  home,  in  the  west  of  New- York,  then  he  goes. 
And  a  horrible  plot  began  to  disclose, 


40 

That  unless  we  elected  him  over  his  foes, 
The  South  would  assuredly  bite  off  its  nose. 
Re  too-ral,  loo-ral,  &c. 

And  a  self  called  convention  of  Whigs,  now  has  said, 
Though  he  quitted  the  party  which  gave  him  his  bread, 
That  we  must  submit  by  him  to  be  lead  [dead. 

With  the  slave  preaching  boaster,  who  slanders  the 
Re  too-ral,  loo-ral,  &c. 

But  the  drivers  may  threaten  and  coax  as  they  may, 
They'll  probably  find,  when  it  comes  'lection  day, 
That  in  spite  of  all  they  can  do,  or  can  say, 
The  whole  of  the  team  heads  the  opposite  way. 
Re  too-ral,  loo-ral,  Sec. 


NORTHERN  CHIVALRY. 
TUNE. — "  Dandy  Jim"  "  JohnHighlandman" 

Come  "  Buck  "  and  "  Breck,"  and  list  to  me. 
I  sing  of  Northern  chivalry, 
Not  made  of  gutta  percha  canes, 
But  iron  hands  and  fertile  brains. 

Fremont  shall  lead  a  glorious  band 
Of  freemen,  to  enrich  free  land, 
Make  Kansas  like  a  garden  shine 
With  milk  and  honey,  corn  and  wine. 

I  sing  the  men  who  rear  the  mill, 
Make  streams  subservient  to  their  will, 
The  earth  her  hidden  mines  disclose, 
And  deserts  bloom  like  the  rose. 

Fremont  will  lead  a  glorious  band,  &c. 


41 

The  man  who  works  with  honest  toil, 
To  win  his  tribute  from  the  soil, 
More  honor  from  his  country  craves, 
Than  he  who  drives  a  thousand  slaves. 

Fremont  will  lead  a  glorious  band,  &c. 

The  man,  the  mind,  the  soil,  all  free, 
This  is  the  chivalry /or  me, 
No  suppliant  slaves  to  tend  my  beck, 
No  rulers  such  as  "  Buck  "  and  "  Brech" 

Fremont  will  lead  a  glorious  band,  &c. 

No  clanking  chains,  no  cutting  whip, 
No  thongs  with  human  gore  to  drip, 
Free  bread,  free  labor  ; — man  and  child, 
From  taint  of  Slavery  undefiled. 

Fremont  will  lead  a  glorious  band,  &c. 

Free  schools,  free  thought,  free  speech,  free  press, 
Free  schools,  free  States  and  nothing  less — 
To  Do  or  Die  for  LIBERTY, 
This,  this  is  Northern  chivalry. 

Fremont  will  lead  a  glorious  band,  ^c. 


THE  LITTLE  MEN  AT  WASHINGTON. 

Written  by  a  Member  of  the  Plainfield  Fremont  Club. 

AIR. — "  Have  you  seen  Sam  f 
I've  just  been  out  to  Washington, 

To  see  our  Congressmen, 
And  see  what  changes  have  occurred 

Betwixt  times  now  and  then : 
I  saw  with  much  amazement 

That  great  men  scarce  had  grown ; 
The  Clays  and  Websters  vanished  had, 

Who  once  in  Senate  shone. 

5 


42 

Chorus — O,  why  is  this — O,  why  is  this  1 

The  thought  seems  really  shocking ; 
O,  why  are  all  the  "  little  men  " 
To  Washington  a  flocking  ? 

There's  Mr.  Bright,  who's  not  so  bright 

But  on  him  you  can  look — 
And  sure  I  am,  for  no  great  man 

Will  he  ever  be  mistook. 
There's  Mr.  Wright,  who's  never  right ; 

And  Thompsons  there  are  two ; 
And  for  a  clown  there's  Mr.  Brown — 

And  also  Mr.  Pugh. 
Chorus — 

There's  General  Rusk,  and  Iowa  Jones, 

And  Jones  of  Tennessee  ; 
Hunter,  who  growls  ;  Mason,  who  scowls  ; 

And  smaller  men  than  he. 
Such  smallish  names  as  Allen  and  James, 

To'  mention  will  hardly  pay  ; 
And  Henry  Dodge,  whom  the  people  will  dodge 

On  the  very  next  'lection  day. 

Chorus — 

There's  Weller,  who  couldn't  well  be  worse ; 

And  Douglass,  surnamed  Stephen  ; 
And  Brodhead  narrow  minded  is  ; 

But  Bigler's  narrower,  even. 
Then  there  are  Stuart,  Pratt  and  Pearce, 

Tombs,  Reid,  and  Biggs,  and  Geyer  ; 
And  though  the  men  are  very  small, 

The  list  is  large,  I  fear. 
Chorus — 

An  awful  ass  is  General  Cass, 

Thick  headed,  fat  and  drowsy, 
But  a  bigger  ass,  and  meaner,  too, 

Is  sneaking  Isaac  Toucey. 


43 

For  office  and  pelf  he  sold  himself, 
And  wronged  his  noble  State  ; 

To  get  his  pay,  a  long,  long  day 
The  rascal  will  have  to  wait, 
Chorus — 

O,  what  a  raft  of  little  men 

Have  got  together  there  ; 
It  really  makes  me  feel  ashamed, — 

It  does,  I  do  declare ! 
I  thought  I'd  seen  a  sandy  spot, 

Where  small  potatoes  grew  ; 
But  Washington  has  surely  got 

The  smallest  I  ever  knew ! 
Chorus — 

I  left  the  Senate  Chamber  now, 

And  to  the  White  House  went, 
To  see  the  man  that's  living  there,- 

The  man  the  people  sent. 
Is  that  him,  sitting  in  the  chair  1 

Is  that  Frank  Pierce  I  see  1 
If  Senators  are  little  men, 

O,  ginger !  what  is  he  ? 
Chorus — 


«  MAINE  NEWS  ! !" 

OjR. 

WRECK     OF     THE     SHIP     "BUCK     AND     BRECK." 
(Written  by  a  Member  of  the  Plainfield  Fremont  Club.) 

AIR. — "Susanna*" 

As  I  went  out  the  other  morn,  to  take  some  morning 
views, 

I  heard  a  fellow  crying  out  "  Have  you  heard  the  won 
drous  news  T' 


44 

He  stood  bareheaded  in  the  sun,  he  swung  his  hat  and 

cane, 
And  screamed  aloud  with  all  his  might,  "  Have  you 

heard  the  news  from  Maine  V9 

Chorus. — O,  old  fogies,  come  listen  once  again, 

And  I  will  tell  the  pleasant  news,  the  glorious 
news  from  Maine. 

There  gathered  round  a  jolly  crowd,  their  mouths  wide 

open  stood, 
And  each  despatch  he  read  aloud,  and  all  pronounced 

them  good  ; 
The  first  was  written  thus,  my  boys  :  "  Fremont  is  on 

the  gain, 
The  pine  tree  State  is  all  aglow,  hurrah,  hurrah  for 

Maine  !" 

Chorus. — 


Despatches  then  came  thick  and  fast,  our  ears  all  heard 

with  wonder, 
We  all  exclaimed,  "  this  can  be  naught  but  the  genuine 

thunder ;" 
And  still  they  came,   "  the  wind  blows  hard,  the  storm 

it  still  increases  ; 
The  slavo-Demo-cratic  hulk  has  struck   and  gone   to 

pieces." 

Chorus. — 

Sam  Wells  astride  a  rotten  plank,  is  drifting  out  to  sea, 

And  Farley,  in  the  surf,  exclaims  "  the  devil  will  get 
me." 

Dave  Bronson  walking  on  the  deck,  at  the  first  shock 
was  floored — 

Geo.  Evans  seized  a  jug  of  rum  and  rushed  right  over 
board. 

Chorus. — 


45 

With  frantic  look  and   doleful  voice,  a  man  screamed 

"  bring  a  boat !" 
But  who  it  was  they  could  not  tell,  unless  'twas  Rufus 

Choate. 

But  who  it  was,  it  matters  not,  the  ship  is  all  a  wreck, 
Bnd  all  are  lost  that  passage  took  upon  the  "  Buck  and 

Breck." 
Chorus. — 


[From  the  New  Bedford  Mercury, J 

CAMPAIGN  SONG. 
Am. — "  Low  Back  Car." 

When  first  we  heard  of  our  Fremont, 

It  was  on  the  mountain  height ; 
He  planted  first  the  stars  arid  stripes 

Above  the  eagle's  flight. 
A  score  of  brave  old  pioneers, 

Grouped  round  were  standing  near ; 
But  none  were  there 

Who  could  compare, 
With  the  gallant  engineer, 

As  he  stood  with  the  mountain  ail- 
Blowing  freshly  around  him  there. 
With  the  hunter's  wild  cheer, 
Ringing  startling  and  clear, 
Their  Chief  in  the  mountain  air 

When  on  the  fields  of  Mexico, 

Our  brave  troops  forced  their  way; 

In  California  wilds,  Fremont 
Was  foremost  in  the  frav. 


46 

With  his  brave  and  trusty  rifles, 
He  stormed  old  Castro's  seat, 
And  never  stopped  for  trifles, 
Till  the  foe  was  at  his  feet. 

And  he  sat  in  the  Governor's  chair, 

The  same  brave*  pioneer  ; 
'  And. the  flag  which  the  war 

Had  but  brightened,  waved  o'er, 
As  he  sat  in  the  Governor's  chair. 

He  vowed  while  there,  no  slavery  curse 

Should  stain  that  virgin  strand ; 
And  nobly  he  fulfilled  the  pledge, 

Throughout  that  golden  land. 
And  Jessie  sat  beside  him, 

With  her  sweet  smiles'  winning  raj, 
And  said  she'd  rather  work  by  far, 
Than  yield  to  the  slave  power's  sway. 
And  they  gave  him  the  Senator's  chair, 
•  Who  had  spirit  and  courage  to  dare 
For  the  rights  of  the  free, 

Whate're  the  danger  might  be, 
At  his  post  in  the  Senator's  chair. 

And  now  the  sons  of  Freedom  throng, 

In  phalanx  strong  and  deep, 
To  place  their  gallant  leader  where 

A  freeman's  pledge  he'll  keep. 
We'll  place  him  in  the  White  House,  boys, 

Upon  the  4th  of  March  ; 
And  Jessie  shall  sit  beside  him, 
With  her  smile  so  true  and  arch, 
As  he  sits  in  the  President's  chair, 

With  Jessie  the  lovely  and  fair — 
With  Dayton  and  Jessie, 
His  foes  will  non  esse, 
As  he  sits  in  the  President's  chair. 


CONTENTS. 


A  Candidate  for  Auction, — Benny  Havens,   Oh,  4 

Bully  Brooks— Blue  Tail  Fly,  1 

Bay  State  Hurrah — Hurrah  Song,  •       15 

Baby  Wakers — Lullaby,  22 

Campaign  Song — Villikins  and  Dinah,  7 

Campaign  Song — Low  Back  Car,     -  45 

Contrast,  The — A  Wet  Sheet  and  Flowing  Sea,  •                  3 

Dough  Face,  The— Cor*  Leg.  38 

Douglass  Lament  (over  the  left) — Oh,  Susannah,  -       17 

Express  Song — A  Little  more  Cider,                  •  26 

Freemen  all — Camptown  Races,  -       11 

Fremont  and  Freedom — Did  you  ever  hear  of  the  Farmer,  J4 

Fremont's  Dream — Oh,  Susannah,  -       21 

Fremont  is  the  Name — Bob  and  Joan,     •  31 

Here's  to  you —  5 

Hero  who  conquered,  The — Bright  Rosy  Morning,  8 

KinderhookFoxtoWheatlandBuck — Wait  for  the  Wagon,  28 

Little  Men  at  Washington — Have  you  seen  Sam?  •            41 

Let  us  Sing — Braes  of  Balguither,       •         •  •                25 

Maine  Thunder — Pop  goes  the  Weasel,              •  20 

Maine  News — Oh,  Susannah,       -  -       43 

Northern  Chivalry — Dandy  Jim,      -  40 

Now  Freemen — Dearest  Mae,       ...  .9 

Oh,  Fillmore — Blair  and  I,      -  2 

Our  Gallant  Leader — Blue  Bells  oj  Scotland,  -         •       19 

Old  Jamie  Buck  my  Joe — John  A?iderson,  29 

Poor  old  Buck—  Uncle  Ned,  •       27 

Rallying  Song — Marseilles  Hymn,  30 

Rallying  Song — Bruce  s  Address  •       23 

Sad  Voyage — Oh,  Susannah,            •  36 

There  is  the  White  House — A  Few  Days,     •  •       34 

Upon  the  Rocky  Mountain — Fra  Diavolo,  '  32 

Uncle  Sam's  Boss  Farmer—  Old  Dog  Tray,  33 

We're  for  Freedom—  Old  Granite  State,  10 


IS" 


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